


we never had a choice, but i'd choose to do it again

by potterstagswag



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, More Fluff, really just random fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2751434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potterstagswag/pseuds/potterstagswag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"God forbid that one assassin may get attached to another assassin while you’re both supposed to be thinking about actual assassin-y stuff, like how to break a grown man’s spine in under .5 seconds."</p><p>Random Nysara drabble prompts from tumblr, pre-Arrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How a Grinch Is Introduced to Christmas

"What do you mean you’ve never heard of  _Jingle Bell Rock_?”

To Nyssa’s defense, Sara probably should’ve known that the League of Assassins didn’t really do ‘holiday breaks’. They were trudging through some Minnesotan blizzard, toting back a bunch of goodies (she called them that. Nyssa rolled her eyes.) to their current safehouse, when the subject was brought up. Apparently, the Heir to the Demon had never had a real Christmas tree. Which, okay, was  _somewhat_ excusable but only because Sara knew firsthand how difficult it was to find pine trees on top of a Tibetan mountain range. The same went for when she found out that Nyssa’s never even celebrated Christmas before (Sara was 89% sure that the al Ghuls were probably atheist or agnostic or brainwashed to believe that her  _father_  was a god anyways). 

But she absolutely drew the last straw on her girlfriend never having heard even one rendition of the most played, most irritating tune in the universe. Not even secret societies for assassins hidden in Tibetan mountain ranges could escape that.

"I don’t see what the big deal is," Nyssa frowned, giving her one of those ‘we don’t have time for this, but I’m going to humor you because I think you’re being cute’ looks. 

"It’s an experience!" Sara insisted, going as far as pouting because she knew that they didn’t have time for this but needed to be humored and therefore had to push at being cute. 

The other woman only snorted though, continuing on her way. The last time they’d checked their watches, there had been a six hour window until their next hit. As quiet as the little town was, one of its pastors was evidently responsible for the biggest drug operation in the tri-state area. His dealers were scheduled to put a bag of Velocity 9 under the baby Jesus that night.  

Anyways, she knew that that meant that they only had two hours to do whatever they wanted before having to stake out. And they’d  _planned_  on spending that time cuddling on the couch with mugs of hot chocolate (thankfully, Nyssa wasn’t foreign to that), but this just wouldn’t stop riding on Sara’s conscience. 

Dropping her bags, she stopped walking. “We have to go back to the grocery store.”

"What?" Nyssa glanced over her shoulder, now donning her ‘why do I even bother with you’ face, "Are you joking? Sara, come on. It’s freezing — we can find the song on the radio later."

"No! We have to hear it in the  _store_ ; it’s the only way you can fully understand!”

"To be honest, I’m not really understanding anything about you right now."

She’d meant it as a tease, but it only pushed Sara’s pout further. She watched with narrowed eyes as Nyssa chuckled and turned once more, an urge compelling her hands to move. Before she knew it, she had a perfectly constructed snowball in her hand, and it was sailing through the air with the precision and accuracy that she spent years training to achieve. 

It collided against Nyssa’s head, eliciting a sharp gasp and sharper snap back to her. And if it were scientifically possible, Sara knew that her glare alone could’ve thawed every icicle in a five-mile radius. She also knew that it wasn’t necessarily the greatest idea to get an internationally infamous assassin riled up this close before a mission.

But she just couldn’t help it. Rare was the occasion when she ever got to see Nyssa disheveled — and right now, with her beanie tipped sideways and windblown hair and rosy cheeks that totally marred her scowl, she couldn’t help but giggle. 

Which turned into a full-on laugh. Which left Nyssa to once again regard her as if a crazy person, eventually causing the irritation on her face to give way to incredulity. Which then, for some reason, melted into her feline-like smirk.

It was the smirk that made Sara hesitate. 

"I suppose you’re right… I do not have many experiences with ‘Christmas-like’ activities…" she mused, setting her bags down. She took a step towards her, "But there  _is_ one thing I am quite familiar with.”

Nyssa was grinning now. She waited a moment, long enough for Sara to register what was going on, and then pounced as soon as she was about to tell her to fuck right off. 

But that never made it out of her mouth, not when she felt strong arms wrapping around her waist. And she only managed to let out a shriek before she was on the ground, before snow was being shoveled atop her torso, before all she could feel was cold and numb and Nyssa’s laugh right on her ear. 

God, she hated this woman. 

They stayed like that for a couple minutes, a fumbling mess of tangled limbs and colorful expletives. And it was ridiculous, ridiculous that she could even feel like this. Like they could even  _be_  like this. 

As if their only battle today was wrestling to be on top. As if their only mission was to see how many handfuls of snow they could shove up the other’s sweater. As if they were nothing but two people who couldn’t seem to get enough of the sensation of their breaths brushing that close to each other’s necks. 

"Okay, okay!" Sara eventually squealed, uselessly kicking her legs, "You win!" 

She assumed Nyssa tried to respond, but she interrupted her with a quick press of their lips. Because she just had to. Because her dark hair was cascading over them, and her eyes were crinkling at the corners, and she just felt like it. She would’ve been perfectly content in just staying there a while longer, to continue watching the little puffs of air fogging between their mouths, but that was when she heard a familiar tinkling. Quickly shushing her, Sara went still until some beat up junker passed them on the nearby road.

 _Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock_ … played briefly through the thin windows, before returning to the silence and their heavy breathing once more. 

Nyssa was gazing down at her with another one of her small smiles. “… Come on,” she sighed, plopping a quick kiss on her nose and pushing herself off her, “We’ve only got an hour or so now if you still want to make your wreathes. I was actually excited about that.”

God, she loved this woman. 


	2. My Damsel, My Distress

There are a lot of things to get frustrated about when sparring with a woman who holds absolutely no consideration for your own pride, but the last thing Sara ever thought would grate her attention was that stupid strap of Nyssa’s tank top that barely clung to her shoulder.

"Come on, Ta-er al-Sahfer," she was goading, blowing a loose strand of hair away from her face, "You are getting sloppier."

It was meant to rile her up even more, and it did. The infuriating thing about it though — the thing that really got her — was that it threw her even further off guard. ‘It’ being her hair, not her words. Sara felt her focus waver, her concentration break, when all her eyes could do was watch the way the strand grazed Nyssa’s collarbone.

And then all she could think about next was stepping into the other assassin’s guard and pushing that goddamn strap completely off.

Maybe with her hand, so her fingers can brush across the slope of her neck. Maybe with her lips, so she can finally — finally — figure out if all that muscle and power would feel soft or hard under her breath. Maybe with her teeth, so she can show her that neither of them are as fragile or collected as they thought.

She shouldn’t be thinking like this, she knew that. If not because it was wrong (God forbid that one assassin may get attached to another assassin while you’re both supposed to be thinking about actual assassin-y stuff, like how to break a grown man’s spine in under .5 seconds), then because it left her vulnerable for Nyssa’s right hook.

Sara found herself being thrown against the wall. Lately, neither of them have been holding back. Nyssa still insisted on giving her five minute breaks, and she was pretty sure that most of her punches only landed because those were allowed as well, but, ever since they shared their first mission together, things have gotten a bit more equal.

Or, you know, as equal as it gets when one person is constantly being knocked around, but mostly because a part of her can’t deny that she kind of likes it.

"Are you even listening right now?" Nyssa was asking, probably because she’d just been spouting off various tips on how not to get shoved into a wall.

"Umhmm…" Sara responded, probably because she was busy following a bead of sweat as it trailed down under Nyssa’s top.

Her gaze blurred, constructing hazy images of placing her palms over the fabric, of feeling the taut muscles lining her stomach. Of pushing it up, ripping it over her head and finding that of course the daughter of Ra’s al Ghul wore sport bras that coordinated with her training outfit.

There were too many possibilities; different colored bras for each tank top she’s ever seen Nyssa sport. Purple ones that are easily peeled off. Red ones that make every breath she takes obvious — the breathing that she hadn’t noticed, until now, sounded so much better labored than its usual calm. Just simple old grey ones that needed to be slid off slowly, tortuously because that’s the only word that comes to her mind when she recalls that they’d match perfectly with her favorite pair of Nyssa’s sweats.

Because, visibly worn and possibly made of cotton, they always hung so precariously on her hips. Dangerously slack, begging gravity to just do its job and sink them even lower. And she wanted to bunch the material in her fists, to rip them away because who wears bulky pants in ninety plus degree weather.

She wanted _Nyssa_ against the wall, _Nyssa’s_ concentration faltering, Nyssa’s breath hitching because her hand is slipping under her waistband and finding out whether she’s the kind of woman that prefers lace or boy shorts.

She was all muscle and edges and tan, tan skin; and she covered it all up. She was long legs that Sara wanted to be entangled with her own — bare and smooth and relaxed. She was coy smiles and eyes that crinkled at the sides when amused — something that, for a second, was all Sara wanted to see her donning.

Sara knew she shouldn’t feel this way. Finally snapping back to reality, to realizing that she was staring open-mouthed at a very disapproving and confused assassin, she knew that she shouldn’t be this flustered.

But then, of course, her eyes wandered back to that loose strap — the only thing disheveled about Nyssa’s appearance, really — and she knew that she’d only get a few punches in before it all started back up again.


	3. The Four Times Nyssa's Introduction Was Interrupted

"I am Nyssa. Daughter of Ra’s al Ghul. Heir to—"

"Shoot the stinkin’ bitch!"

Without missing a beat, she drew three arrows from her quiver and swiftly knocked them on her bow. They sailed half a second later, cleanly slicing through the men before they even pulled their triggers. The one she chose to leave standing — the one that rudely cut her off — trembled. 

Slowly, she approached. “Heir to the Demon,” she finished pointedly, taking out her dagger, “And I  _do not_  appreciate interruptions.” 

* * *

 

The thing about Nanda Parbat was that it was, by all accounts, nonexistent. Which obviously meant that the ones who knew about its existence were very limited. 

"Father, I can explain," Nyssa started, but she was quickly cut off by his glare. He was pacing, something she knew was never a good sign. After (wisely) opting to stay silent, he eventually paused and nodded for his guards to leave them. 

Again, she knew that this also wasn’t necessarily a ‘good sign’. 

He squared his shoulders and faced the daughter kneeling before him. “What is your title?”

Blinking, she didn’t bother hiding her confusion when she glanced up. Her father merely waited though, dark eyes transfixed on her own. 

"… I am Nyssa. Daughter of Ra’s al Gh—"

"If you finish that sentence and end up failing me, then you are no daughter of mine." 

The warning was cold and quiet, but it made her flinch nevertheless. She dropped her gaze to the floor beneath him and worked her jaw. Two months. She’d just finished a mission when she found Sara Lance, when she’d saved her from the godforsaken ocean that didn’t dare swallow her up. They spent two months on one of the islands scattered around the North China Sea; she’d nursed her back to health and quickly found out that the woman was not only a survivor, but one that  _fought_  for it. 

Nyssa steeled her resolve on that thought. “Daughter of Ra’s al Ghul. Heir to the Demon.”

Her father remained silent.

"You can trust her," she hastily added, " _I_  trust her. I swear to train her myself. I will ensure that she will not fail you. I will not fail you.” 

She knew better than to meet his eyes again, but she could feel his own boring into her. He moved out of her view, away from her peripherals, but his next words still struck close and cleanly through her chest. 

"We will see."

* * *

 

How many times will people try to snipe her head off before they realize that it just isn’t going to work? 

The mission was supposed to be simple. It wasn’t like this was their first tango with an international arms ring, after all, but apparently  _someone’s_  informant didn’t get the memo that ‘just imported a whole lot of guns’ was something to definitely page them about. 

Nevertheless, she and the two assassins flanking her marched their way across the rooftop. Nyssa shot arrows without hesitation, systematically taking out the surrounding chaos. And, eventually, the gunshots gave way to the distant hum of Tokyo traffic beneath them. She picked up one last command ringing out in Japanese to her left, but the thug was silenced before she could even notch another arrow. Turning her head, she shot Sara a pleased smirk. 

Just then, she heard a telltale  _click_  from a couple meters away. 

"It is over," she called out, readying her bow, "Do not make this harder on yourself! I am Nyssa. Daughter of Ra’s al Ghul. Heir to—"

"Watch out!"

It happened so fast that she barely even registered what happened. First, the man had propped up his rifle. Nyssa saw this and prepared herself to take the needed sidestep. After that, however, nothing made much sense. She could see that he’d yet to pull the trigger, but a shot still rang out. Suddenly, she found herself stumbling, being  _shoved_. 

And then she saw Sara crumpling to the ground.

Nyssa was immediately at her side, ignoring the other assassin’s shout to take cover. Vaguely, she acknowledged that the man she’d been talking to was now receiving a glaive through his heart. That barely mattered though. She was too busy searching Sara for wounds. 

Through her barely contained panic (calm and collected — that was what she always had to be) she couldn’t see anything wrong with her. So, of course, she blurted out the first words that came to her head. 

“ _Do not get in my way again, Ta-er al-Sahfer_.”

Sara looked like she was about to fire off a retort of her own, but that was when their partner called to them. Nyssa glanced away, saw that he was pointing to the other side of the roof, and wasted no time in locating the hidden shooter. 

Turning back, she was about to tell Sara that she was alright — that she couldn’t find any blood. But then that’s when she saw it; it was no more than a graze, but it cut right through the other woman’s side and no doubt left a sting. 

Standing back up, Nyssa couldn’t quite describe the sensation that was rapidly overtaking her. Her hand shook, but she notched her arrow with ease — with  _purpose_. When she spoke, she could hear the undercurrent of rage that shattered every pretense of ‘calm and collected’ she’s ever had to put on. 

"I am Nyssa," she repeated, setting her target right on the man’s chest, "Daughter of Ra’s al Ghul! Heir to the Demon! And you… will…  _pay_  for that.” 

* * *

 

It wasn’t a rule, per say, but the League of Assassins always did like to layer their work with an air of subtlety. Usually, Nyssa liked to abide by this. This time, however, she kicked down the door. 

"Where is she?!" she roared, skewering the guard before he even processed her question. Not that that was really a reason for hesitation. Or rational reconsideration. She continued to stalk across the basement. 

It was nothing but dark and dank. Honestly that just fueled her fury further — they’d kept Sara locked in here for _five hours_. The smell of mold was torturous enough, even without the interrogations that she didn’t doubt the other assassin had been subjected to during that time. She should’ve known better than to leave her alone. She should’ve known that DuCard’s men would round back to their last known rendezvous. 

Readying an arrow, she scanned the room. “I am Nys—”

"Nyssa!"

She should’ve been furious. If not for the interruption, then for the fact that she was  _that_  close to shooting her. But before Nyssa could even remember that that was how she should’ve reacted, she found herself being enveloped in a hug. Coconut oil and sweat filled her senses, overtaking her instinct to get angry. 

And then her lips were on hers. 

It was chaste, almost rushed. It was also by far  _not_  the first time they’ve shared a kiss, but this time was different. Sure, the tingles and the sudden lack of air was the same, but this time there was no thought. No hesitation. No concerns on whether they’re taking things too far, or if this changes their strictly professional (as they liked to insist) relationship, or if anybody was going to see — right now neither of them cared.  _This time_ , it was a reaction that felt as natural as their tempers. 

"… Sorry," Sara mumbled against her mouth, though she didn’t look anywhere near apologetic when she pulled away, "I know you hate it when you don’t get to finish."

"I— I came here to save you…?"

At that, the blonde chuckled. “I took them out five minutes before you got here,” she explained, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. If the pride hadn’t been evident in her tone before, it definitely made its appearance in the smirk she donned next, “I was just about to take care of the last guy, but… looks like you got to him first. Sorry. Again. Did you want me to save you one more to hear the introduction?”

Nyssa knitted her brow. She couldn’t see any crucial wounds that needed immediate attention. Nor were there anymore adversaries in sight. Really, if she were being completely honest with herself, all she  _could_ manage to acknowledge was that Sara was flashing that dimpled smile at her. 

"… No," she finally answered, somewhat uncertainly. Ignoring that highly irritating tremor in her tone though, she reached for Sara’s hand. Their fingers intertwined almost instantaneously upon contact. Easy. Casual.

Instinct. 

"It doesn’t matter. Let’s get out of here." 


	4. Over Troubled Waters

"I’m fine."

She fired the retort under her breath, hardly allowing it to be heard over the engine roaring underneath them. She refused to look at the woman beside her, but that meant being unable to look much anywhere else. Looking towards the sky would’ve made her look foolish. Looking to her sides would’ve forced what little food she’d shoved down her throat come back up. So Sara settled for adamantly glaring at the ship’s deck. 

Nyssa was surveying the area, pretending to ignore her until she was sure they were in the clear. After a couple seconds, she shot her a sidelong glance and arched a brow.

"I didn’t say anything."

"You didn’t have to," Sara snapped, crossing her arms, "You’re giving me that look. The same look that you gave me when I said ‘yes’. And again when you picked me up this morning.  _And again_  before we stepped onto this stupid thing. Which was just five minutes ago, by the way. So I’m  _telling you_ , I am f—”

Two disastrous things happened before she could finish her sentence. The first being the goddamn motherflipping ship lurching off the dock. The second was her reaction.

The gasp ripped through her throat without a chance of being stopped. Thankfully the accompanying squeak was something she managed to squelch, but not before Nyssa could fully turn to her. 

"Perhaps we should sit down," she suggested in an even voice. 

"Perhaps we should both just shut up for a second."

If she had been anybody else, Sara knew the words would’ve been her last. There was virtually no living person on earth who could say they’ve spoken that way to Nyssa, daughter of Ra’s Al Ghul, Heir to the Demon, after all. And she had the sneaking suspicion that this was more accredited to her being ridiculously lethal even with her hands tied behind her back than anything the aforementioned title gave her.

 _If_  they’d been anybody else, none of this would’ve been a problem. If they’d been anybody else, it wouldn’t be a question that they were friends. 

But they weren’t ‘anybody else’ — they were assassins. Or, well, Nyssa was an assassin. She was the assassin in training; and she knew for a fact that assassins in training do not talk to the ones training them to be killers like good ol’ buddies.

With that in mind, she honestly couldn’t have predicted what the other did next. 

She couldn’t see Nyssa’s face, but she saw her feet move. She crossed over her, making a beeline for a bench near the ship’s edge, and sat down. When she spoke again, Sara could hear the smile in her voice. 

"Suit yourself, Ta-er al-Sahfer _,”_ she said, leisurely leaning back, “But you’re breaking the first rule I taught you. Hide in plain sight, but pretend that you belong there. Do you  _belong_  in the middle of an empty deck?” 

It took a couple seconds for Sara to work up the nerve to scowl up at her. But as soon as she did, it dissolved. Nyssa wasn’t looking at her anymore, instead gazing out to the red sea surrounding them. The breeze combed through her thick, raven black hair, and the remaining rays of sun skimmed atop the bronze shoulders peeking out from a loose dolman top.

Even though fourteen months have past where they virtually never left each other’s side, she couldn’t remember the last time she’s seen the other woman in normal clothes. As in  _not_  donning her assassin’s outfit or training wear. 

Right now, she looked like any random college student enjoying a cruise. 

"… Fine," Sara sighed, reluctantly trudging over to her. Careful not to look at the way the waves were crashing, she sat down, "But don’t call me that. It’s not like I’ve earned it."

"Not yet," Nyssa hummed, still watching the water, "But soon enough. I wouldn’t have brought you with me if you weren’t ready."

Silence fell over them then. Sara spent it counting the beats of her heart, wondering when the hell it would slow down. She knew that it was stupid. She had nothing to be afraid of — they’d spent the entirety of last week ensuring that there was nothing wrong with the ship. Of course, that alone had been humoring her enough. The League of Assassins weren’t exactly lenient on the list of phobias and traumas its employees couldn’t handle. 

"You are still afraid."

It wasn’t a question. Broken from her thoughts, Sara glanced up to see that Nyssa was examining her. She opened her mouth, but shame and embarrassment prohibited anything from coming out.

"… It is alright if you are," Nyssa continued, moving her gaze away once again, "I think you may have gotten the wrong impression about us. We  _are_  allowed to feel. We’re allowed to be human. We are not, however, allowed to let that conquer us. We’re warriors. We fight for a living, but who we fight are not those assigned to us. We fight  _ourselves_. Our own demons. When I found you, you were on the brink of death. But you were not weak. You just didn’t know how to fight.”

Pausing, she looked back to Sara. Suddenly, the hammering in her chest seemed to slow down into an aching pressure.

"I rarely allow those who have seen my face to live, Ta-er al-Sahfer. I have, and always will, train you to the best of my abilities. I know you can overcome this fe—” 

"I trust you," Sara interrupted. Again, she had to wonder just how many people in the world were able to do that and get away with all their limbs still attached. Nyssa seemed to be thinking the same thing. Her dark eyes searched through hers, momentarily shifting to something beyond her, before flashing a look that she couldn’t quite recognize. She was so busy trying to figure out just what it was that she saw pass through her friend’s face that she almost missed the fact that they’d somehow gotten a lot closer.

_Almost._

"I see…" Nyssa mumbled, voice lowering. She was unabashedly leaning in now, so close that their breaths mingled. Sara was paralyzed. The distance between them was practically nonexistent — all she could see was shadow-veiled eyes, peculiarly red lips, and… and a smirk. 

_Holy shit…_

"Then trust…" she added, nearly closing the gap before redirecting to whisper in her ear, "that I will ensure no harm comes your way ever again. The mark is at your six. I’ll lead him toward the lower deck — you take the South entrance and cut him off. You  _are_  worthy, Ta-er al-Sahfer.”

And then she was gone. 

It took a moment for her to realize what had just happened. Sara hastily shook this off though, knowing that she didn’t have a lot of time. Nyssa liked to work quickly. 

But as she headed off the deck, she couldn’t help but notice that she no longer felt queasy. Nor was her heart racing to break out of her chest. 

In fact, it almost seemed to be skipping beats instead. 

**Author's Note:**

> These were all written late at night and with no particular thought to their actual back story. So I guess it's like it's not even in the same universe? For example, one chapter describes Nyssa and Sara's meeting to have been in Hong Kong, while another vaguely mentions Nyssa saving Sara straight from the ocean. So yeah. Neither of these are completely correlated to each other.
> 
> Also, if you read any of these on ff.net, then rest assured that no plagiarism has transpired. I just heard that AO3 is also a nice place to put things in.


End file.
